


Piety

by Smokeprincess



Category: Metalocalypse (Cartoon)
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Blood and Gore, Cults, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Gender Roles, Humiliation, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, Misogyny, Porn With Plot, Possessive Behavior, Pregnancy Kink, Religion, Supernatural Elements, Vaginal Sex, Will add tags as I go, brain washing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:07:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25324405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smokeprincess/pseuds/Smokeprincess
Summary: A world where Toki chooses a life of obligation to his parents and family, instead of fleeing to America. Desperate to make an outside connection from the oppressive cloister of his commune, you stumble as but a hapless traveler across his path. Longing for an answer to your own questions and fears of the future, Toki and his home are willing to provide you answers - but is there something more sinister aground?
Relationships: Toki Wartooth/Reader
Comments: 17
Kudos: 36





	1. Chapter 1

_What were you_ doing _here?_

Once you had completed school, clouds of roiling doubt rolled in. They obscured the next step of your life, and you stumbled through them blindly, hands outstretched as you battled questions. _What next?_

What were you going to do? 

_What next_ …?

Uncertainty had been creeping into your bones since before graduation, but as soon as you finished, the anxieties bloomed into full-blown panic. You had been inundated and overwhelmed with queries from family and friends. _What kind of job you were trying to get now? Where were you going to live? What life were you trying to live?_

They filled you like water, and you were drowning. You wanted to hit pause – You needed to. Couldn’t you just have a moment by yourself to think?

 _You should have been thinking before you graduated, stupid._ Fuck. You hated that you were right.

Instead of drowning under the weighty expectations of your family - of yourself - you escaped.

To Norway. 

If you were being specific, you had currently escaped to a Norwegian music store. 

Your liberal arts major had required you to take a language credit, and instead of picking something practical or popular, you had picked… 

_Norwegian._

The Scandinavian Languages department was standing on the crumbling legs of a half dozen students and professors. For a long time you’d wished you could have gone back and chosen different, but now Norway seemed like the perfect place to avoid your problems. While your other friends would go off to build their families or starting to nurture budding careers, you could just…

Disappear. 

Just for a while. Just until you could figure things out.

Now that the raw fear of your future gnawed generously at the barriers of your confidence, you decided to put that knowledge to use.

You were a competent speaker – or at least your professors had told you so, though your spelling was something awful. 

At the least, nobody from Oslo to Hamar had given you strange looks while you spoke with them. 

You hadn’t saved a lot of money during your studies, but you had enough pocketed away that you felt you could enjoy a trip. A couple of months of feeling yourself out; fitting into your new skin as an independent adult.

The stay had been roughly planned out around a number of tourist traps that you had learned about in class. Statues, Viking ruins, Romanesque churches – the like. Keeping your plans loose, you wanted to move around at your own pace, but didn’t want to become stagnated too long in any one city. You picked up the occasional souvenir for the occasional friend, and helped yourself to snacks, sights, and plenty of sleep. Debts repaid for every hard night in the library.

Your very own _Eat, Pray, Love_ , the existential graduate edition. 

No thinking required. 

_And_ you had only embarrassed yourself a small handful of times.

_’Wh-what?’ You stuttered in English, at the money exchange in the Oslo airport. While you’d been able to ask for money alright, the woman behind the counter used a word you were unfamiliar with, and it jarred you._

_‘Do you need an_ envelope _?’ The woman repeated icily back in English, her glare steeped in dreadful irritation._

_‘Oh,’ You cowered. ‘No…no thanks. I’ll be fine.’_

Jesus. You shuddered at the memory. _What were you doing?_

Well, right now, you were shopping. 

After landing in Oslo, you’d spent a few days cruising around the city, fleshing out your colloquial Norwegian, before striking northwards. You bought bus tickets that took you up the left of the Mjøsa, making visits to small antiquarians or old cafes in older villages. 

It was a beautiful country. Overflowing with rolling fields and reaching peaks, late summer maples and birch spilled generously over the countryside whilst the mountains walled away the horizons with their outstretching summits. Norway hugged the sea, and every road you were driven down propelled alongside blue rivers or great lakes that bled in from the ocean.

While taking some photos of a ruined cathedral in Hamar, you had been told by some fellow tourists heading back down towards Oslo that the Lillehammar art museum might be of interest to you. 

_”You think? I don’t really know that painter – Matisse, you said?” You asked the couple that were also taking photos of the toppled church, its only standing three arches its last headstone._

_One of the women shook her head. “Well the art is one thing, but it’s a cute town, if you like all these little kitschy European places. But if you do like art, you know its like, Van Gogh-ish.”_

_“Like…post impressionist?” you asked, lowering your camera so you could flip through the screen, deciding what you’d keep and what you might let go. You’d gotten there bright and early to capture the light, and it had more than paid off._

_She laughed. “I don’t know, there was just like, lots of colours and the big brush strokes and stuff. And they have great cake!”_

With no concrete plan one way or the other, you pursued their advice, and found yourself where you were now.

Lillehammer. It was a charming little village, but you would have to spend tomorrow combing through it. You’d arrived late in the evening, and would have to land yourself a hostel first.

The people here seemed as predictable and simple as those from the town you’d ever been to. Old women gossiped in the local café, children chased one another in the streets, and naturally, there was a ramshackle music shop. You had only been walking by when the storefront caught your attention.

‘ _Drep Du Selv_.’ 

The name alone told you it would be a heavy place before you opened the door, and you couldn’t help yourself. _Only a quick look._ you thought, unconvincingly. 

Stepping in, you were satisfied to see it stood juxtaposed to the postcard-like streets outside. A scathing voice blared through the loudspeakers, hissing as rocky guitar shredded violently over it. The clerk behind the counter was heavily made up in black and white paint, flipping through a graphic novel you didn’t recognize. At your entering, he lifted his head and, seeing your backpack and the camera around your neck, he looked promptly down without greeting. 

You had gotten that look a few times. _‘Tourist – Avoid at all costs.’_

Trying not to feel too awkward about the snub, you kept your head down and shuffled over through the rows of record and tapes. Your ipod was already stacked with an impressive musical array to accompany you on your travels, but the snob in your heart couldn’t help but want for a new piece to sit in your own record boxes at home. A gift for yourself to bring back with you. 

_”Yeah, that’s just my Norwegian Black Metal record,” you’d brag to your colleagues. “From uh, actual Norway.”_

You occupied yourself in an aisle labelled _Sverige_ \- or, Sweden, you knew – parking in front of a numbered row to begin idling through. 

Scandinavian metal was familiar to you, and in fact had been a large part of your language learning. Norsk and Swedish were brother languages, and while you had trouble understanding a Swede when they spoke, anything written down translated rather evenly. 

Besides, wasn’t music universally understood?

You gravitated so the moodier looking album covers. Some of the albums you recognized; Opeth, Blodsrit - But others were strange, and new. You pulled out one black and white vinyl. Four men stood before it, their visages indiscernible in the grainy texture of the photo, the grey smoke that rose from their feet melted into the backdrop of thin, naked trees. The name across the top didn’t ring any bells.

Indie, maybe. But, you wondered why you could not recognize all the letters…They were nearly runic.

“I’d recommend that.” An unexpected voice answered over your right shoulder in Norwegian. You gasped, dropping the record, before your head snapped around to see who had spoken. 

A young man, maybe a few years your senior, stood a few feet behind you. His hair was long, and his clothes all black. Just another metalhead, you thought, but taking a second look at his outfit, it seemed a little…off. His Trousers were knotted off in a drawstring and he wore a cloak that hearkened back to an era gone by. 

Maybe he was just one of those ‘steam punks’. 

Either way, he’d spooked you for a moment there. “At least, if you like a good guitar solo.” He smiled with an uncompromised friendliness, and with marvel you found yourself disarmed by it.

 _And who might you be?_ His bright blue eyes asked you with a harmless curiosity, reading over the buckles of your backpack. You guessed you looked as weird to him as he to you. 

“O-Oh,” you caught your breath, leaning down to pick up the record. You glanced back to the clerk. He was looking at you. He definitely saw you drop it, if you had to guess by the judgement look boring through you. Shaking his head, he dramatically turned the page of his comic and looked back down. Damnit. “Yeah?” You answered, distracted. “I’ll uh, I’ll check it out.” 

He nodded back, following your glance over to the disgruntled employee. “Don’t mind him. He’s a softie at heart, I swear. All bark and no bite. We have been friends a long while.

You weren’t sure you believed that, but you nodded anyway. It wasn’t like you’d likely ever see the clerk again, anyway. 

“You’re American?” He asked, unexpectedly. 

“How…” You blinked. You could be from the UK or Canada or really anywhere. 

“Your accent is terrible,” he interrupted, with a jovial laugh, which you had to join. “Americans always sound so flat. What’s up with that?” 

Feeling ease find you again, your shoulders relaxed. “I got A’s in most of my classes!” You rebutted.

“Mm,” the stranger gave you an unconvinced nod as he turned towards a row beside your own, looking through for his own tastes. “Only the ones where you didn’t have to speak, maybe.” 

“Wow!” You guffawed at the light-hearted way he teased you. 

“Might I try my English on you?” He asked, and you gave him a little nod. He followed up with, “Whats brings you to Lillehammer?”

You gave him an incredulous look at his thick inflections. “Oh, but _I_ have a terrible accent?” You couldn’t help but tease back as you answered in English.

“In Norsk, you bets you does. Heres,” he pulled out another record, this one looking typically black. A complex rune was encircled in white over the front. “This a one-mans band.” You slid it over the first one, eyeing the euro tags. They were relatively inexpensive, but you were still in the early weeks of your getaway. “Great stuffs. His drums is real good, plays like ten different instrumentals. Totally badass.”

It struck you that you didn’t know the man’s name as he continued, now beginning to hum different songs as album titles would cross his eye. It was endearing, you thought. Cradling the two records in one arm, you put out your hand for a shake, and introduced yourself. “Thank you, by the way.” You nodded down to what you were holding. “You come here often?”

He looked at your hand for a moment, unsure of how to react. You thought you might have offended him as he considered your outstretched palm, but as you thought to lower it, he grasped it firmly in his own, shaking it decidedly. “Toki.” He put his other hand over yours to join its partner. “It is…ah, _herlig?_ to be meetings you.”

“You mean wonderful,” you offered the translation, and he nodded, still holding your hand between his own.

“Yes,” he agreed, and he looked at you with what you might _call_ wonder. The bright blue pools of his eyes shimmered with excitement. “I mean wonderfuls.” It was almost enough to be entrancing, but adult cynicism in you made you wonder if he was like this with everyone, or just random girls he met in dingy record aisles?

Realizing he might have been holding on you for too long, the newly dubbed ‘Toki’ let you go, with no hiding the reluctance to do so. “And I donts visits often enough, ams afraid. Ah – but you hasn’t tolds why you have come here.” 

“Oh! I’m sorry. The art museum, actually.”

Toki furrowed his brows at you with feigned disapproval. “If you like arts and histories and that kind of thing, you should see Domkirkeodden at the Anno in Hamar instead.” 

“Actually I did see Domkirkeodden,” you handled your camera with one hand, as though you were saying you had the pictures to prove it. “I just came from Hamar, in fact. Someone there told me to come up here for the art.” 

“Really?” Toki asked, his smile keen. “Sos, you _does_ like that lames stuff. I thoughts Americans are alls about excitings things like explosions and triple decker pizzas, from the legendary _hut of pizzas._ ”

You snickered. “I hate to break it to you, but while our vocal minority is vocal, they’re still a minority. I’m just out here trying to live my life right now, you know?” Trying to _find_ that life, more like. 

“That’s boring,” Toki criticized good-humouredly. “Just tryings to lives would be like, just wakings up and eatings and breathings and doings the things you are being told.” His motions faltered for a moment, looking away from you and down to the records. A little strange, but you couldn’t help but smirk at the same time.

This guy who you barely met was trying to give you some ‘life advice’ was he? You were pretty tired of getting that from back home. “Then what should I do instead?”

Toki lifted easily from whatever moodiness started to crowd in on his own words and he spread his arms open. “Has fun! That is what I ams doing. Have you visited _Kake Fjell?_ It’s a cake and sweets shop a fews roads down. I coulds show you? They will probably be opens for another hours.” He looked hopeful, but with the sun going down you knew you’d have to refuse. 

“That’d be fun, but I can’t – I actually should be looking for a place to stay right now.” 

“You don’ts has a room?” He looked to your backpack a second time, maybe silently judging your travelling decisions. Frowning, concern that spoke to you as genuine crossed him. “You arents sleepings in the streets are you?” 

You laughed again and shook your head. “Well, not if I manage to get some place to stay tonight. I’ll be alright.” 

Toki watched you, twisting something around in his mind and you wished you had a window to look in on what he might be thinking about. Who was this guy? Not that you hadn’t met other friendly faces during your vacation – or even vacations prior, but the air around this man was…strange. 

Not bad, or good just…

Looking from side to side, Toki eyed the clerk warily before he leaned down to you, voice dropping to a whisper. “You knows, I could takes you some place that most foreigners don’ts get to see. If yous like histories…” he trailed a little bit, and the way he avoided your eyes made you a little uneasy. 

“I could take you. It’s a very old place.” 

Intrigued, but alarms of possibly getting kidnapped by some strange European sagely voiced to you that it probably wouldn’t be a great idea to go off with him alone. “I don’t know…I have an itinerary and everything…” It was a small lie, but safety first.

Pursing his lips, thinking to himself, a look dawned on him and he pulled out a wallet. “Look,” flipping it open, he showed you a small photo tucked in the transparent slot. It was a photo of him, it seemed, several years younger, with a somber man and woman on each side. “Behind us, rights there,” he tapped a corner of the photo, and you saw an unusual longhouse. Triangular, and dusted with snow. “This is my community. Or, ones of the buildings ins it. We lives just away from Lillehammer.”

It did _look_ like he was part of some…community, as he had just put it. The style the man and woman dressed reminded you of images of the Amish or Hutterites. You didn’t know either of those people to be particularly into kidnapping. “What do you…do there?” You asked, testing the grounds of his authenticity. “What’s it called?”

“Whats we do? The usual things. We keeps the chickens ands chops wood ands wears our funny clothes,” he gestured to himself. “I ah, can’ts says its name here. Sort of a rules. But my cousins Dagne brought me here, we can brings you home with us. We has rooms, and then we takes you back into town tomorrow and you cans visits your dumb nerds museum.” 

You laughed and weighed the options. If he were telling the truth, it might be a great opportunity to see some of Norway’s older cultures. You knew of the Sami and their traditional ways of life, and you knew of the orthodox Catholicism that had its claws deep into Norse land. Judging by your studies and the brief look at the photo of the longhouse, it did seem like a very old place indeed. 

And well, if you were honest, he didn’t feel like that kind of person. A bad person, that was. He radiated off a simple happiness that you easily looped into. His voice was bright and uplifting, and it filled you with a confidence that you hadn’t felt in yourself in a long time. 

It helped that he was cute, too, you thought. But that would be private between you and yourself. 

“Sos?” He interrupted your thinking, his eyes wide and full of a puppy-dog expectation. “Would you likes to come see?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Thanks for making it to the end!I hope you enjoyed the start of my new story! 
> 
> Some notes....
> 
> Clearly lots of creative liberties will be taken going forwards, considering a lot about where Toki comes from isn't spoken about in the show. I'll be filling in gaps at my discretion! 
> 
> This fic will be a lot darker than Serendethity as a forewarning, and I'll be trading perspectives between Toki and the reader as well to give a little more introspection on his side. 
> 
> Otherwise, thanks for checking it out and feel free to follow me on my tumblr @vodkaexplorer if you're looking for progress updates!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Updated the tags; they aren't relevant to this chapter in particular but just so y'all know they changed!

“If Aunt Anja finds about this, she will _eviscerate_ me like a spring lamb, Toki.” 

Dagne was what Toki liked to call a _whiner_. Too nervous, too worrisome, and too vocal about it. Still, Toki liked her best amongst his cousins – she was a soft-hearted person. A helper type – always the first to offer to clear away the dinner plates or put up the wash.

She was the only one Toki was sure would take him into town without bothering him too much about why he wanted to go. Of course she had asked questions, but once Toki had been reluctant to give her clear answers, she’d known for her own sake it might be better not to find out. 

Rolling his eyes, Toki leaned back against one wall of the wagon cart, feet crossed at the ankles as he tilted his head back to look at the pale morning sky. “Well when she does, I’ll be sure to burn your bones accordingly,” he answered smugly, and they traded looks. Hers of disdain, and his of mild humour.

“You aren’t funny, Toki.” 

“I disagree.” Down the road, he could see Lillehammer coming into view as the wagon rocked along. “No one has caught on to us yet. Just pick up the things on the list she gave you, and I will meet you near the bar this afternoon. Like always.” 

Grumbling numerous disagreements, Dagne cracked the reigns to encourage the horses to trot on at a brisk pace, and the rest of the trip went quietly. As they drew closer, Toki relished in the stench of car exhaust and smog that dirtied the clear air. The smell of a city; bursting with life, noise and merriment. 

While the community was self sustaining to an impressive degree, they were occasionally made to source goods from the outside. Mostly those of luxury, such as that which made up the list Anja had provided the two yesterday. There were some practical needs such as ink and paper, but mostly fine items like spices and spirits. Things they would need for the coming autumnal celebrations.

Even now, his father, Reverend Aslaug Wartooth, had gone off on a venture to meet suppliers that would provide them with bulk necessities such as tools and oil. He would be gone for a few days yet, and Toki had lunged at the opportunity to steal away from home while he would be guaranteed that the eyes of his father would not be watching after him.

Not that Toki had never gone into town while his father was around, but there was something much more liberating knowing that he wouldn’t be there when Toki returned.

Entering town, Dagne turned down a familiar unpaved alley behind a dying pub. It was the best place to hide the wagon where they could be sure locals wouldn’t trouble the horses. The owner of the bar had approached them only once about it, asking them to clean up after their animals next time they decided to put them there. Toki had been on shit-shovelling duty ever since, but it was a small irritation to pay for a convenient parking spot.

Hopping off the front of the wagon, Dagne began to manage the horses once they’d stopped. Toki stood and vaulted over the side to join her. Once the animals were tied and tended to, Dagne withdrew the shopping list from a pocket in her coat. She read through it and put her palm up towards Toki, expectant.

At the coaxing, Toki fished out his wallet from his trousers, opening it up to thumb through the few bills that mingled together. Picking out the set amount that had been given to him by Anja for the groceries, he handed it over to Dagne. As she tucked the allowance away, she eyed the remaining notes in his wallet as she always did. And as always, Toki expected her to say nothing about it as he went to close the wallet.

But this time, she did.

“Where do you get that extra money?” 

It was the first time he’d been presented with an accusation, and Toki leaned back, surprised as well as defensive. “If you want some for yourself, you should just ask me, Dagne.” He attempted to deflect, opening the wallet again. He fished out an extra bill and offered it to her. “I’d recommend trying cola.”

Dagne’s eyes shot down to the money, before quickly sticking her nose up. “I won’t be needing it.” Her curt reply ended the short confrontation, and Toki hurriedly put his wallet away while the pair headed toward the open streets. He was uneasy about how she might have received his answer, concern bridging the edges of his periphery. He was worried that when they returned, Dagne might go spreading rumours about his money. 

Yet, there wouldn’t be any sense worrying about it now. They had only just got into town, and no anxiety was worth spoiling the trip. Besides, if she were dutifully quiet as always, there wouldn’t be any further issues.

“I will get the supplies, _‘as always’_.” Dagne mocked, gently, leaning into the levity. “Do not be late this time – and please don’t get into any trouble.”

Toki smiled, attempting to reconcile the mood that nearly soured between them. “You don’t have to worry about me! We’re talking about Toki here.” 

“I hope I don’t. I will see you this evening, cousin.” Dagne curtsied her farewell graciously, and Toki dipped his head in a lazy bow before he set off in the opposite direction.

This routine where Dagne would be responsible and collect the goods while Toki would wander off had been going on for a while now. 

_’She should smile more,’_ Toki thought to himself, letting go of the weight of their strange conversation so that he could enjoy his freedom. 

Dagne might not know where her cousin disappeared to, but there was a handful of stops that Toki liked to make. He would visit an arcade and spend a couple hours trying to beat his own high scores. From there, he would window shop and talk with locals, indulging on soda and treats not otherwise available to him back home. Much of his day was spent in a comic book store that doubled as a games’ shop. Regulars played table-top games that Toki was largely unfamiliar with, though whenever he stopped by, the store runners let him paint a couple of the _Warcraft_ figurines, which they’d then use in their displays. 

He would play occasionally when he was invited to, but there were a lot of _rules_ and he’d forget half of them by the next time he was able to visit. But, it was still nice that they would offer to let him sit in now and again. 

Toki’s last stop was a favourite haunt. _Drep Du Selv_ was a music shop run by the front-man of an unpopular local band, Runke Snogge. Toki had met Runke years prior in his early teens, only stopping in to listen to songs over the demo headphones, never able to buy anything to take home with him. Runke, perhaps understanding over time that Toki came from an unusual situation, had offered any records at a significant discount. A couple kroner or euro; whichever he had on hand. Over time Toki had been able to take home enough records that he was now starting to amass something of a private collection, and he was always excited to see what he might be able to add.

The selection didn’t change much from month to month, but as he arrived, Runke reliably pointed out what was new. Toki’s house was one of a privileged handful that owned a record player, and while he felt lucky for it, he couldn’t help but eye the stacks of cassettes one section over. Wouldn’t it be nice to own a tape player of his own?

Then, _you_ walked in. 

Toki looked up from the back as the door swung open. Bright light filled the entrance way, paving a block of sunset into the shop floor. Your silhouette cut a hole of darkness into the amber square, and he followed it up to your form. Back-lit by golden light, instantly he felt taken by your imagery. While you awkwardly handled Runke’s lack of greeting, Toki watched you. 

_A foreigner?_ He smiled. Not entirely rare in Lillehammer, but a fun delight none the less. Looking back at the door, he wondered if you would have a companion come wandering in after you, but no one did. _A foreigner alone._ Even rarer. 

While you moved past Runke, Toki quietly admired the embarrassed way you ducked your head and shuffled along. He liked your overlarge backpack, and the way you unconsciously kept readjusting its weight against your weary shoulders. As you started to browse through the Swedish metal, Toki took it as his opportunity to discover who you might be. 

Toki had spoken with Americans and other outworlders before, but the way you trilled your _r’s_ in that casual, _modern_ Eastern dialect - _my!_ He thought. How your American slant edged in between fricatives _engaged_ him. Expats in Lillehammer had accents, but many of them had been around long enough that they had picked up the local nuances that slowly eroded away their mother tongues. But you, ah, so over-pronounced, so _new_.

It helped that you were cute when he teased you, he’d think. 

It wasn’t long before he found himself asking you to go with him. 

_Go with him?_ Toki knew it was a wild idea as it was coming out of his mouth, but he leapt before looked; his enthusiasm getting the better of him. Perhaps his father being out of the homestead made him drunk on freedom. The fading sunlight signaled that he wouldn’t get a day to spend with you otherwise; no. Dagne and he would be gone soon, and they would not be back in Lillehammer for who knew how long. 

And you, a tourist, would not be around when he returned. 

You played around with the idea of going with him, pursing your lips somewhat. “…Alright.” You agreed. After all, weren’t those in your life always trying to encourage you to put yourself out there, or whatever?

Besides, Toki’s inherent earnestness swayed you rather convincingly. “But if I’m not back tomorrow to update my family, they’ll call Interpol.” You lied, somewhat sarcastic as you did so. The reality was you were doing your best to avoid contacting home at all. Every email you would get back after writing about what you’d been seeing in Norway was met with a barrage of _When are you coming back_ ’s and _Did you know there was an internship open at_ ’s. 

But Toki didn’t need to know it wasn’t true; at least not until you knew the guy a little better. 

“So we cans get cake?” Toki asked, and you smiled, laughing with a nod. 

“I guess we can! What cake do you like best?” The pair of you started towards the check out counter, and you set the records that you’d been suggested down in front of Runke.

“Honey cakes! Though they alsos have greats chocolate cake, and ones with the walled nuts and cherries!”

Glancing at Toki, Runke muttered over the top of his graphic novel. “You know the _deal_ doesn’t apply to _strangers_.” He didn’t look at you while he said it, though he answered in a much clearer English than Toki. You didn’t mind being denied whatever ‘deal’ Toki was implied to have gotten. When in Rome, you figured, and you knew you were the odd one out. 

“That’s alright,” you interrupted before Toki could respond, taking out your own money. “How much?” 

Runke rung them up, gave you an amount, and you provided him some cash. “Anything for you, Toki?” he asked, but Toki shook his head. 

“Nah, I didn’ts see anythings there I liked.” Well, he did see _something_ he liked, albeit not a record. 

Your things paid for and bagged, you started out as a twosome.

Putting his hand on the door, Toki pushed it open for you so you might exit first, and you smiled a little to yourself as you passed by him. “Wes cans probably listen to somes of those whens we get home.” Toki said about the new music. 

“You have a record player?” From the picture you’d only seen briefly, you weren’t sure exactly what kind of ‘old’ Toki’s community was. An old society, or just an old place? Toki’s clothes suggested that the people lived in accordance to some traditional value, but you were happy to hear that you’d be able to play your new purchases. Maybe it was also a good sign that they might have indoor plumbing. 

Nodding, an energy seemed to beat through Toki at the question, looking cheerful and unburdened in a way you felt a little envious of. “We dos! Don’ts laughs at how old it is whens you sees it, either,” he warned jokingly. You pictured a gramophone in your mind’s eye, snickering. 

“Alright, I’ll try. Not promising anything, but I’ll try.”

As you two rounded a corner together, Toki stalled as he caught sight of a woman pacing down the sidewalk, the hem of her dark skirts a flurry about her ankles. The black bonnet and fitted jacket she sported made you think she stepped out of the set of a witch trial film. 

_Of course,_ Toki mentally lamented. _It would be Dagne._ Smile down-turning at her approach, he was instantly annoyed as her eyes landed on you both.  
“Ah,” Toki sucked some air through his teeth. “That is my cousins.”

Dagne opened her mouth, about to say something as her face twisted with fury, but she turned to stare at you, and her jaw clamped shut, tight as an iron hatch.

Toki couldn’t help but feel a little cocky, knowing that Dagne wouldn’t be so ready to break her vow as he was. He could play with that advantage, he thought, even though it would easily rile his devout relative.

“Dagne!” He greeted openly. “This is my new friend,” he introduced you in Norsk, setting one hand on your upper back, gesturing to you with his other. You waved a little, offering up a polite smile. “She’s interested in Norwegian history, so I was thinking we should bring her home so she can see some of our culture.” 

The severity of the look that Dagne gave Toki made you wonder if he might collapse under its gravity, but he looked unaffected. Dagne’s arm snapped forwards as she caught him around one wrist. Glancing at you and smiling weakly, she put her index finger up as though to say _’just a moment’_ , before yanking Toki several feet away. 

Not far enough that you couldn’t eavesdrop if you tried, but you figured you ought not to.

“Toki,” she hissed, her voice low and private but soaked in vehemence. “Are your parents right to call you a fool?”

Feeling every muscle fiber snap taut at the mention, Toki felt his nostrils curl in petulant resentment.

Dagne eyed you from afar. “What did I tell you about being late! About getting in _trouble?_ I knew you _spoke_ to these people but dragging one _home?_.” She continued, stricken with confused anger. “An _infidel_? Anja will have us both strung up by our thumbs!” 

Groaning at the lecture, Toki folded his arms over his chest. “Don’t be dramatic. Outsiders have come before. There was that professor from Oslo who joined us, remember?” 

“He was only let in _temporarily_ because Aslaug knew he was stirring up trouble. We were also very careful about what we allowed him to see, lest you _forget_ , cousin! There were preparations.” Her voice was quiet but theatrical, nearly crying out loud in her exasperation. “You can’t just take anybody in! How do you know if this strange woman is _clean_? And we’ll be discovered for lying at that. How will you explain meeting this creature?“

“Whatever,” Toki cut in, slicing through her criticisms with his immature insouciance. “I’m going to bring her anyway.” It was the rare opportunity to be autonomous that lead his decisions, emboldening his choices as he prickled under Dagne’s interrogative assault. “She’ll come tonight, and you can help me take her back tomorrow. What’s the harm in one day? If you’re worried about my mother, I’ll be the one to speak to her, and I’ll leave you out of it.” He did his best to punch some authority into the statement, and hoped that that would the end of it for now.

Dagne didn’t look entirely satisfied, but she would have to be. He was a _Wartooth_ , and even she knew holy righteousness meant less than that name. Toki would get his way, and she could only hope to be spared the rod for it. Still, crawling concern from earlier that morning multiplied in the folds of his brain, fed by Dagne’s reluctant surrender.  
What _would_ he say to Anja that might assuage her? How _was_ he going to explain his need to expose you to their dark, hidden corner of Norway? 

When he looked back at you, those worries were chased away like shadow after sunlight. You had actively tried to stay out of their private conversation, displaying none of that American entitlement he’d heard plenty about from his countrymen. You would probably just call it being considerate, but gossip was as good as gold in his home. How often had he had a disagreement with someone, and looked up to see a brood of nosey hens sticking their heads out of the windows of the cookhouse to pry?

Turning back to Dagne, her lower lip wobbled, upset that she wouldn’t win this battle. “The wagon is loaded. We should have left an hour ago, so clean up after the horses and let’s get out of this horrible place.” Pivoting, she hoisted up the front of her skirts so as not to catch them on her heeled boots, before clacking off back down the sidewalk. 

When she was far enough away that Toki felt like he could exhale his tension, he turned to you, a little bashful. “I’m sorries,” He apologized sheepishly. “We are lates leavings. We mights need to get cake somes other times.” 

You nodded. “That’s alright. Maybe we can see it tomorrow?” 

Toki grinned, and gestured for you to follow him as he trailed behind Dagne’s path of rage. “Ja, maybes. I hopes you don’ts mind the smells of horses.” 

You mirrored his grin while you walked alongside him. Horses? Maybe they really _were_ Amish.

The pair of cousins lead you behind a dingy bar. The wagon was plainly crafted, with no special accouterments adorning the seat rails or tail board. The horses were large and dark in colour, with deep, burgundy cornea. They were intimidating, hoofs stamping at the ground with frustration. Dagne approached them, affectionately stroking the sides of their great necks as she removed the binds that held them in place. 

Meanwhile, Toki opened the back and retrieved an old shovel. “Why don’ts yous get in,” he suggested, twisting the handle of the shovel in his hands. He would prefer that you didn’t watch him clean up horse shit anyway. “Ams goings to only be a seconds.” 

Ushering up towards the back, finding it at a height that made it hard to climb in comfortably, you unstrapped your backpack. Lifting it up and into the box, you also set your records inside before trying to work out a way you could get up yourself.

Struggling, you put a foot up awkwardly on a footstep, trying to figure out where your hands were supposed to go or how you were going to haul yourself up as you gripped at the wooden sides. 

Toki, seeing your awkward state around the wagon, stopped and leaned the shovel against a wheel. Grabbing you by the hips, you let out a noise while he hoisted you up easily onto the wagon. Your rear was planted on the edge of the back, Toki’s head now a few inches below your own.

Your heart fluttered at the surprise of being grabbed, starting to feel yourself redden. “Thanks. Sorry.” 

Toki laughed. Typically, only _children_ needed assistance getting into wagons, and he found it charming that your modern upbringing rendered you equally inept. He didn’t want to pull away from you, finding your self-conscious state a little…alluring. Still, there was work to be done or they’d have no light to lead them home. Finding the strength in himself, he leaned back and grabbed the shovel once more. “Sorries for what? Sits, ams just going to be a moment,” he repeated, returning to his task with a hurried will.

There were a collection of bags in the back, both paper and canvas, and you found a spot up near the front where there was space to stretch your legs and stash your stuff.  
_This is crazy,_ your inner voice reminded you. You had no idea where you were going. Still, other than Dagne’s rigid lack of acknowledgment of you, you didn’t feel uneasy with the invitation. Finding that they had come here in a literal cart and horse made you relax further. 

While you slowly fell into your thoughts, Toki finished. Grabbing the side of the wagon, he hauled himself up and in with no difficulties, making a display of his effortless strength. Dagne similarly pulled herself up into the box seat, collecting the reins in her hands while Toki shut the tailboard securely. Once he’d settled himself in the cart beside you, Dagne snapped the reigns and jarred the horses into action.

Your body tilted with the momentum, grabbing onto your backpack for stability as Toki poked fun at you alongside vivid laughter. “Lifes with no seatbelts.” 

“And no hydraulics,” You couldn’t help but add, the wooden wheels bumping the wagon bed along against any unevenness they rolled over. 

“Hydronlecetriks?” Toki attempted to imitate. 

“ _Hydraulics_ ,” you repeated, a little slower the second time.

“Hydro-lenktiks.” He tried again, and you shook your head, laughing, Toki following suit.

“Where is the ‘n’ coming from?” You ragged.

Toki snorted, waving his hand dismissively. “I’s ams sayings it just likes you!”

You rolled your eyes while smiling, propping up your knees and crossing your arms over them as you grew used to the wagon’s sways and stutters. For a moment you simply enjoyed the strange new experience of sitting with Toki, a man you didn’t know. You were lulled into security by your light-hearted conversations and the sound of even clopping as the horses stepped in tandem to pull you all along.

Looking around at the shopping bags that had been loaded into the back of the wagon, you saw the heads of several bottles of what you assumed was vodka sticking up from their papery nests. “You guys having a party?” 

Looking at the back of Dagne’s head, Toki felt quietly thankful that she’d never learned any English herself. “Yous bet! It’s going to bes a real cools party, we has it every September.” He paused a beat. It was a short few weeks away. “Hows longs are you staying in Norways?” 

You shrugged, and it was the most honest you could be. “I don’t know. A month or two or three. I guess I’ll stay as long as I have the money to support myself,” you answered. 

“Why _Norway_?” 

“Why so _nosey?_ ” you countered, and he relaxed against the side of the cart, smirking towards you. 

“Ams not nosings nothings! I just means, if I weres ans _Amerikansk_ I wouldn’ts comes to Norways. I woulds be doings all kinds of cools stuff like ridings all the rides at six flags ands shootings bigs guns!” He put his hands up, holding an imaginary gun between them. Closing one eye as though staring down the sight-line, he pointed it over the side of the wagon towards equally imaginary enemies.

You shook your head a little, leaning back yourself as you bantered. “Is everything you know about America a stereotype?” 

Disappointed at the idea that maybe Americans _didn’t_ spend all their time on roller coasters or firing automatic weapons. “Wells whats do _you_ do?” 

“I don’t know. Drugs, mostly.” You replied. 

“Really?” Toki leaned in, immediately intrigued. “Likes whats? Meths?” 

You let out a laugh of shock, shaking your head and hands in protest. “What? No! No, I mean like, weed. Mostly.” There were some chemical and hallucinogenic drugs that you may or may not have imbibed in, but weed was your vice of choice beyond alcohol. 

Toki was increasingly curious, looking a little sly as he glanced back to the back of Dagne’s head once again, as though sure she might be secretly listening in after all. Turning to you, he scooted a little closer, bending his knees up like you had. “Dos you have some?”

The question surprised you, but you answered honestly. “Kind of. I’ve got some joints with hash?” You felt yourself whisper. While you didn’t understand why Dagne was cold and silent towards you, you shared the sense from Toki that she might not want to be _in_ on the mischief. 

Toki nodded, and you looked around as if the Norwegian police would come running over a foothill. The horses were following a main road out of town, though it was no freeway. You hadn't seen a single car pass by yet.

Unzipping one small pocket on the side of your backpack, you retrieved a small cigarette case. Popping it open with your thumb, you revealed two small joints. You’d gotten them in Oslo during your first week, buying them off some bikers outside of a club for an overcharged price. “Is uh…is that okay?” You asked, uncertainly. 

“Of course.” Toki reassured. If he were to be honest about it, he was excited at the opportunity to further disobey his parents behind their backs. 

Runke had once offered him a marijuana cigarette, but Toki had turned it down in fear of returning home with the aromatics sticking to his hair and clothes. Runke hadn’t offered again, nor had Toki asked to try, though with age he regretted losing a chance to step further out of his fishbowl. You were here now, and he felt arrogant and annoyed with Dagne’s shrill fretting.

You pulled out a lighter and one of the joints, stashing the second away for a later adventure. “Have you done this before?” 

“Of course!” He said again, but you narrowed your eyes a fraction and he gave himself up with no pressing. “No. Buts I has smokesd cigars before.” 

Not really the same thing, but at least he wouldn’t need a baby’s-first-cigarette tutorial. “Alright,” you passed the joint over to him and he raised it to his lips. “Don’t hold it in,” you warned. 

“I know!” 

You moved closer, cupping a hand around the joint so that you could light it as the breeze whipped the flame around. The end caught, and Toki breathed in deeply. You watched the end of the joint illuminate in red embers, the paper eaten away. The pungent stench hit you immediately, the smoke thick and grey as it roped weightlessly upwards. 

Toki’s eyes teared up somewhat and he sputtered, some of the smoke shooting out his nose and clouding out between his lips. Inadequately exhaling, he was caught in a rip of coughs, handing the joint back to you as he wheezed into his opposite fist. 

Dagne turned, confused about the smell and the smoke and the noise, but she didn’t recognize what it was they _had_. Maybe a strange tobacco, though she squinted towards her cousin with notable distrust. Toki ignored her leering eyes and you took an equally large hit. Maybe just to prove the prowess of your own lungs and years of smoking experience.

As you exhaled, the world seemed to slow around you in time to your breath. The afternoon air was cool, twilight-hour insects coming out in dusty swarms to feed in the grasses. Distantly, there was the present sound of water that accompanied much of where you’d been within Norway. A featuresque hill crested by violet light was making its way into view while you two passed the joint between one another. You handed it off to Toki, and gripped your camera. 

Lifting the eye, you aimed, and took a shot. 

“Oooh, rights, yous been to Hamar.” Toki blinked lazily as the drug hit his own system, reminded of your earlier conversation as he watched you work with your camera. “You should show me.” 

“Oh yeah,” you lowered it, exiting from the camera mode and into the SD card album. “I thought you didn’t like this boring stuff?” 

Toki shrugged. “I saids it is lames.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?” You opened up the photos you’d taken of the ruined cathedral, and leaned close to Toki so he could see the screen. 

Neither confirming nor denying that he liked history, he paid the screen its due attention, eyes dilating as the hash made its home deep in his receptors. “Woooowee,” he whispered, and you two flipped through your photos together. Why was it that someone from Norway was more excited about the photos than those back home? You shook the melancholy thought out before it settled. No – you were enjoying yourself. You were going to keep enjoying yourself, escaping further into the countryside.

Your high swam through your veins, relaxing you from the inside out. The lingering tension you were holding flowed from your fingertips and toes like water. You inhaled deeply. “This is a beautiful country,” you complimented. It wasn’t that America didn’t have mountains or lakes or trees, obviously – but unlike home, hours by road _here_ yielded few rolling fields or desert plains. The whole nation was jaggedly structured, the air thin. You’d never seen the Himalayas or the Karakoram, but you imagined it would feel like being _here_. Like being at the top of the world.

“Mm?” Toki acknowledged, blue eyes meeting yours. “Its cans be.” 

His own inebriation took him stronger than it would take you, and he inhaled deeply again, searching for the joint before remembering it was in his own hand. “Ah!” 

You two shared the rest of it slowly as the trip carried along, and were both silenced by its sleepy power. Occasionally, you would say something about a photo you had taken, and occasionally Toki would ask a question. Eventually you two were sitting thigh-to-thigh, shoulder-to-shoulder, using one another to hold yourselves up.

Toki wouldn’t admit it, but the places where the two of you connected were electric to him. You smelled of something artificially sweet and flora, perhaps your perfume. Often, he found his eyes wandering away from the photos and just to your face. Your hands, delicately cradling your camera; the nape of your neck as you craned down to pick more showy examples.

Evening fell away into night, and Toki disentangled himself only once to help Dagne light lanterns that hung off the back and front of the wagon. The horses eventually turned from the paved road and down a dirt path. Its entrance was lit by a similar lantern hooked on the end of an iron post, otherwise hidden away by hoarding oaks. Their branches disguised the starlight, and a paranoid part of you fueled by weed silently worried that figures or animals would leap from between the trees and at the wagon. 

But nothing came. Every little while another lantern marked the way, and you felt that you were being transported further and further back in time. 

“Here it comes,” Toki announced, and you looked past Dagne, past the frightening dark horses, and towards a small huddle of lamp light that flickered on the other side of the wall of trees. The horses turned, and soon you broke through the wooded dark and into the clearing that housed the village. It was hard to make out any discernible features of the buildings from afar in the night, but you could judge the village’s size.

“Wow – it’s a pretty small community, huh?” You asked, judging by the lights you counted, and Toki gave you a mixed look. 

“Not everys house is here, but these are main places wheres most peoples likes to talks and plays games and things. That ones in the middles is _Midtenhus_ , the mains hall. Mostlies we has parties or serious meetings there.” Nothing in between, Toki mused to himself. From this distance, you could only tell that Midtenhus was a large, oblong shape. Dagne directed the horses towards it, and as you drew closer into the village, you were able to make it out with growing clarity. 

Parking the wagon alongside of it, Dagne started the familiar routine of getting down to unpack. You would like to see this Midtenhus in the morning, though even in starlight you could admire its unusual peaks and the intricate architecture of the symmetrical planks. 

The three of you clamoured off the wagon, and Toki unlatched the tailboard so you all might be able to unload the goods together. As you did so, an older woman stepped out of an adjacent building. 

With no other people outside, you all looked to the movement and the sound of a door swinging closed behind her. As Toki set his eyes upon her, he went rigid, and his head snapped back to the many bags. On the trip back, he hadn’t done a lot of thinking about what he might say to his mother. Instead he’d been fully distracted by your hair, and your voice, and your jokes. And the weed. The black forest that encircled them seemed to whisper his wrongs, and dread flooded him like an icy river, freezing his nerves.

Dagne put her hand on the back of your upper arm. Looking at her, she used her other hand to signal you would have to take the groceries around the back of the building. You nodded, innocent and confused about Toki’s thousand-yard stare towards this woman. Picking up as many of the bags as your arms could hold. Dagne did the same, then with a jut of her chin, she motioned that you follow her, and you did, leaving Toki alone with the wagon.

“Toki.” 

It was a command. Like a demon bound by true name, Toki, too, was forced to obey at each beck and call. Lifting one arm, her black cloak flapping behind her, Anja gestured to the door she’d just come from, before turning to open and disappear behind it again. 

Toki swallowed. Concern creeping no more; it now came crashing through his brain. Dagne was right. She had had the good sense to try and warn him, but did he listen? No. He never did.

_Are you parents right to call you a fool?_

Perhaps so. 

And now, nearly face to face with Anja, his breath was shallow and reedy. Frightened. Cowardly. 

The closer he grew to the door, his vision started to spin. How would he justify this? 

He was inside without fully registering stepping through the door, and his mother stood tall in her heavy robes. She didn’t ask him anything, instead staring at him with waiting eyes. Waiting for him to humbly confess his transgressions. 

“Only for a day,” Toki pleaded instead, and sounding like he was asking to keep a stray dog. “She’s friendly.”

Anja stern, thin lips curled with some disgust. “I cannot even think of a place to begin with this. Should I ask where you found her? You obviously have spoken to her. Should I ask what in your right mind thought you should bring her _here_?” She swept over to him, grabbing a lock of his hair. “You go around, hair uncut, _no_ shame.” 

Releasing him, she spat to her side, hitting the wood floor as she muttered a prayer to cast out the clutches of sin. “Where did we stray in your rearing that you’ve grown so spoiled?”

Mortified and upset that he would not be heard, Toki felt the brunt hand of her shame as she struck him once, hard across the face. Toki reflexively winced, head turned. He was ready for another coming blow, but Anja paused, face stern. Lowering her hand deliberately, she instead stared Toki down with a cold, unwavering glare. “Your father will handle you when he returns. He knew you would do something like this. In the meantime, you will be honourable around that _thing_ ,” she hissed her virulent words. “Before you get rid of her in the morning.”

Thing? _She isn’t a thing_ , Toki thought, pained by her reaction. 

“I will not have _my_ son fuck a _whore_.” 

Shocked at the statement, Toki had not invited you with ideas of such…such…”No!” He protested. “That isn’t why I’ve brought her, I swear! I just wanted – she is nice, mother, she is just a friend!”

“Get out, boy.” Anja directed. “It is late. I haven’t the energy to argue with my insubordinate son. I must pray to God on how _I’ve_ failed.” Her words were dry, cold and distant to his ears. 

He turned, quickly, eager to leave the horrible little room, and he made his way back way out into the cold evening, the night air burning against the hot mark of his mother’s hand on his cheek.

You were still helping Dagne, though she’d roped you now from helping with groceries into unshackling the horses and helping them into the stable. All the while, she hadn’t said but a word, guiding you instead with grabbing hands and pointing fingers. 

_Is she a whore?_ Toki thought, concerned while he watched Dagne show you where to unbind the blinders and bits. To him, you looked open to the education, willing to participate with your intent eyes and mimicking hands. You hadn’t initiated any flirting or made any compliments towards him. In fact, it annoyed him somewhat to realize that you hadn’t. But didn’t that make you better for it? 

Outworld women were often described as loose and careless with their sexuality, and he knew he didn’t really _know_ you. 

What Toki had been told of reprobate women were that they were immodest, selfish temptresses. A _mara_. A succubus, they plotted to rob the good souls of devout men and turn them blind from God. Was that what _you_ were? _A nightmare?_

At present, he didn’t see it, but the seed of the idea found root in his brain, still swimming with drug. If you were, it would be uncovered soon, he thought. 

Then, confidently, he assured himself you’d prove to be as good and golden-lit as you looked when he first saw you. 

As certainly _blessed_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PHEW this ended up three times as long as planned. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
> 
> I loved the thoughtful comments people left on the first chapter, and always much appreciate the time people take to read these very self indulgent stories. 
> 
> I hope I'll be doing Toki some justice! Finding the balance between who Toki is as the filial son, and who he is as his open self outside of Norway is going to be an interesting one. 
> 
> Also finding the balance between the reader-character's introspective moments and Toki's without confusing the two will be interesting too : ^)
> 
> ANYWAYYYY, all this to say, thanks for reading regardless!


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